The Demise of Sherlock Holmes
by isaacrichards
Summary: When disaster strikes, John is left helpless against the threat of an on coming storm. New chapters each week.
1. Chapter 1

The Demise of Sherlock Holmes

After finishing dinner with Mary, John made his way back to 221B. Sherlock was being as silent as ever, not answering calls or texts. John longed to speak to his friend as he hadn't spoken to him since John went away with Mary's parents. He made his way into a cab and asked the driver to get him there fast. After about ten minutes of driving they were in a back ally it was then John noticed something. The driver had thus far been very talkative but now he sat stock still, looking at something behind a cluster of bins.

'What is it?' John asked.

'Look, by the bins.' The cabbie whispered. Next to the bins was a woman bending over, picking something up. Her hair was pale and ragged clothes hung from her low shoulders. The cab passed and John got a good look at what she was doing. She was holding a small rodent in one hand and a scalpel in the other. The rat squeaked in fear just before the woman shoved the glint of silver into its throat. John gasped and told the driver to keep moving, she was a lost cause. What John didn't see was when the woman pulled the rats eyes out. I didn't take much of a pull; they were awfully fun to play with. The woman made her way back to the shadows.

The cab made its way to 221B. It was late by the time John got home, and there was only one light on in the house. Having paid, John went to the door and reached for his key. Damnit, it was in his other coat. John knocked on the door and Mrs Hudson answered.

'Are you quite alright dear?' she asked, 'It's awfully late to be out, especially in this place.'

'Thank you, Mrs Hudson but yes, I'm fine.' He gently pushed pass her.

'Okay then, I'd better get back to my brandy. Julia said she was going to chat to me later.' She waddled off to her room.

He made his way upstairs and hung his coat up. The house was gently illuminated by the lamplight outside. Dust seemed to hang in the air, only being disturbed by movement.

'No dusting.' John sighed. 'Sherlock? I'm home!' No answer. 'Yeah, very funny!' John wasn't worried. He just felt an air of unease in the house. The window was open and a huge articulated lorry drove past, making the place shake. But that was normal. John picked up his phone and rang Sherlock. HE could hear a faint vibration coming from Sherlock's room. He went up to the room and opened the door. He dropped the phone.

In front of him, arms out stretched lay Sherlock, his throat slashed, red crosses layering his skin. 'Oh my god! Sherlock!' John screamed, desperately checking for a pulse, breathing, anything that would deny the reality of the scene infront of him. 'Please no, please. You can't be dead. Sherlock, get up, Sherlock please.' Johns eyes filled with tears. He held his friend, the corpse cold. 'NO!' John yelled in anguish. MRs Hudson came into the room.

'Dear, you really need to- oh my! Sherlock?' she rushed to the body. 'Quick, phone an ambulance!' She yelled at John's general direction.

'Mrs Hudson, stop, please, there's no point.' He started to sob. His friend, his companion, his ally. Gone forever. Nothing was going to bring him back, not this time. Sirens filled the air and John just sat there, looking at his friend. Rain began to spatter against the windows and thunder echoed around London.

There was a storm coming, and no one would be able to stop it.


	2. Chapter 2

September? C'mon, it's time for work!'

'Yeah, yeah, I'm coming. Give me five more minutes.'

A woman in her early 20's, DCI September was running the Holmes case. She lived in a two bedroom apartment with her fiancé. DI Lestrade had deemed the case too personal to him so he was off to Majorca for a week. September thought that this was an excuse for him to have a break. A particularly nasty case had taken its toll on Greg. After falling into her clothes, September made her way to work. Her pot noodle was still hot when she arrived at Scotland Yard.

'Okay Barney, what've you got?' the IT specialist was short but useful. CCTV footage, names, fingerprints, everything went through him. He had important connections that could provide information, so he'd been called in to work the case. Hardly looking up from the screen he explained;

'CCTV was blacked out manually, so nothing there. No eyewitnesses. Nothing out of the landlady, Mrs Hudson. Holmes' phone was taken; he wasn't on a case when he was killed, so we can only guess. Fingerprints missing, so I'm guessing that gloves were used. No weapon near the scene.' He said, taking of his glasses 'We've got a professional. This is going to be tricky.'

'CCTV was blacked out?' September put her pot noodles in the bin. 'Get me a list of personnel that signed in over the past three days. Then find me gangs that use a cross as an insignia.'

'Okay. Oh yeah, Molly Hooper at Bart's rang, said the body is ready for examination.' Barney got to work.

'Right, thanks.' September made her way to her desk. This was going to be tricky. Everybody had heard of Sherlock. He was their greatest asset; he'd helped on more cases than September could remember. He definitely had his share of enemies; his line of work ensured it. But no one was stupid enough to take a shot at him. Every common criminal probably loathed him, but this murder wasn't a random event. It was a meticulously planned killing. He was a target, not a victim. The rain spattered against the glass next to her, the storm that had battered London for the last day. Seventeen unanswered emails greeted her. She let out an exasperated sigh. Her parents were sure that if she were to take this case, she would instantly become a target. But one caught her eye. A JM was inviting her to dinner in one of the most high end restaurant in London. 'JM. JM,' she thought 'Jim. Moriarty.' Now that was promising. Not just being able to meet the fabled 'Arch-Enemy' off Sherlock. 'That's motive.' She thought.

Getting up, she made her way to St Bartholomew's. A bland building, one of Sherlock's friends worked there. It also happened that she worked in the morgue where Sherlock had been taken after his death. Molly Hooper greeted her. Eyeliner dripped from her face.

'Sorry, I'm just having a bit of a hard time…' she looked away.

'DCI September.' she held her hand out 'I'm very sorry for your loss.'

'Thank you,' replied Molly, 'Oh dear, where are my manners, please come in.' the two women walked into the building. 'Just down there.' She pointed. They made their way into the morgue. The room was dimly lit and shabby. Three stone slabs were in the centre of the room, two empty, one holding Sherlock. A smell of who knows what filled the room. It was deathly quiet in that place. Seeing the look on Molly's face, September embraced her.

'It's okay; we will find who did this. And they will pay.' She said. Molly seemed slightly comforted and wiped her nose.

'Okay, shall we begin?' She breathed deeply and took the cloth off of Sherlock. DCI September let out a small gasp.


End file.
